


Sweater Vests and Popped Collars are so Last Conference

by thatweebfrommiddleschool



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, KNB Secret Santa 2014, KT, all other miragens are minor, model un au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2864486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatweebfrommiddleschool/pseuds/thatweebfrommiddleschool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Model United Nations AU. For KT, as part of the 2014 Secret Santa Gift Exchange! I hope you enjoy it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Vests and Popped Collars are so Last Conference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashortienamedkt](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ashortienamedkt).



Kuroko Tetsuya has always wanted to help others. According to one Ogiwara Shigehiro, diplomacy was the best way to go about this. What better way to prepare for a life of treaties and committees than through Model UN? 

His first conference is at Azabu High. Despite completing the necessary paperwork, Kuroko fails to gain attention in pre-conference meetings and is exiled to the World Bank Committee, representing not Teikou’s typical Japanese delegation, but that of Lichtenstein due to a slip-up. The World Bank Committee, with its smaller size and ability to pass all loan proposals, contradicts to Teikou’s thirst for success and written off by most. 

Kuroko’s uncouth partner is not present at the opening ceremony or the first session. It is a grueling night. Despite being first to raise his placard, his delegation is marked as absent and he falls to 116 on the speaker’s list. Kuroko churns out notes to delegates with potential, countries in his regional bloc, or anyone within a ten feet radius of his back row seat. He must tack his placard to the end of an aisle for note passers to have a remote chance of getting replies back to him. 

There is nothing for him to do but work as a note passer. But, Kuroko cannot say it is an awful job. He has the shepherds and the sheep identified in minutes. Certain blocs have ideas complimentary to others and his own. It is all-to-easy to simply pick up discarded notes, readdress them, and send them to allies. Kuroko connects blocs he favors and disrupts the course of rival notes. Perhaps this is not so bad a job, working as a phantom general of his coalitions.

The clock strikes midnight and all are freed from the sterile science lab. Kuroko just makes it on to the Teikou bus and is ready to crash straight into his hotel bed when a flash of red catches his eye. 

 

For Akashi Seijuurou, Model UN is a lifestyle, an extension of his grooming for the company. The Akashi family has participated in conferences across the globe since Japan’s debut into the competition. It’s values are taught on-site and are eternally applicable. He who strikes first wins. Go to any length to amass a large following. Gather around you an elite circle, a court of sorts. Sleep is for the week, the delegate dance a joke, for nothing can be taken home other than a Best Delegate award. 

Make no mistake: success at a conference cannot be contained in a ceremonial gavel. A dominant position paper ensures a dominant future for the conglomerate. Every character, every speech, passed note, well-timed look across the room to an ally following a rival’s blunder at the podium, every single vote even on the length of an unmoderated caucus is important as securing as a paycheck for Akashi’s future employees. All several million of them. The success of his bloc is comparable to a board of directors. By that logic, a lagging classmate is equivalent to a partner with a poor quarter that must be turned around. 

It is a heavy cross to bear, but Akashi tries his best. Through remarkable displays of parliamentary procedure, utmost respect, as well as notes and wrapped snacks sent directly to the dias, Akashi has his teenaged monitors eating out of his hand. It is through them and their delightful group chats that Akashi is able to keep tabs on his classmates. All good things, which he proudly reports to his father. Akashi the Elder is so pleased that he tells Akashi that he is sure to be a valued member of the Akashi family and maybe even be loved one day. 

So when he hears of the disaster that was World Bank under the jurisdiction of absentee Haizaki Shougo and some other, unimpressive (none of the event coordinators, not even the security cameramen, recognize this delegate), Akashi feels as if all the red coloration of his blood has fled to his closet of salmon shorts and red polo shirts back home. A failing officer could fell his entire empire. An intervention had to be staged promptly, lest Teikou yield even the most toothless of committees to a lesser school. 

Akashi positions himself just outside of Kuroko’s hotel suite, and waits. He reviews the performances of his fellow first years while he waits. Midorima Shintarou is excelling in the World Health Organization, having already drafted an innovative method of providing third world countries with proper health equipment. Murasakibara Atsushi has his colleagues in the Food and Agriculture Organization salivating with his thoughtful, albeit half-baked plans for international confectionary nutritional standards. Momoi Satsuki is not only sweeping the Entity for Gender Equality and the Empowerment of Women, but also acting as the woman behind the curtain for childhood friend Aomine Daiki in UNICEF. 

So entrenched in this review is Akashi that he nearly misses his mission as Kuroko Tetsuya is groggily fumbling with a magnetic key card. Both jump at the sudden awareness of each other.

“President Akashi,” Kuroko is quick to recover, striking first in a way that is neither defensive of his performance at committee nor a bid to escape.

“Kuroko Tetsuya, delegation of Lichtenstein on the World Bank Committee,” Akashi parries in a game of titles cloaking inquiries. 

“How is committee faring for you?”

“Fair. ‘So-so’, as the foreign students would say. There are no unusual voting blocs, and the rest of the P5 are compliant. But I did not come here to talk about myself.”

Kuroko is content to step back for Akashi to play his hand.

“It has come to my attention that you had a bit of a rough patch these past few hours. As I do not yet have full privileges as Club President, you were assigned to the World Bank with Haizaki Shougo by our faculty sponsor. I originally planned for more disciplinary action under the impression that incompetency was the cause of your dismal performance.”

“It is presumptuous of me to say, but this lecture has been rather amicable. What then, is your new plan?” 

“What you lack in presence, you more than make up for in shrewdness.” 

Kuroko produces a binder of notes. In it is commendable research and drafts of loan proposals, but what is most impressive is the amount of discarded notes and astute observations on the other delegates. 

“This is equivalent to the work of two, perhaps three delegates. Your supplementary notes are invaluable.” 

“It’s nothing.” Nothing. iiiii. Kuroko is more right than he may know. Kuroko himself has been operating on this ‘nothing’ principle. 

“It is the tack in which you can observe to victory. You only need the proper wind.” Akashi grins, despite himself, as he returns Kuroko’s notes and pats his shoulder. 

"And you are my wind?" Akashi flips Kuroko's collar up. Yes, things are going to work out fine.

“Just trust me.”

 

_One Year Later_

Kise Ryouta initially joined the club to build an international modeling network while skipping committee. It took just one impassioned (if frighteningly well-researched) speech from Aomine Daiki to open his eyes to the competitive value. Kise sharpened his wit while his stylists applied dramatic contours. Posing for head shots was a visual exercise for the first time blitz on the Speaker’s List.

He had to admit that committee had its charms, people watching being the best one. The dress code, ‘business casual’, never got old. Kise Ryouta, new Zunon star, rising golden boy, veteran model of five years, couldn’t even pin down what business casual meant. Jeans and a dress shirt? Haute Couture cords and his grandpa’s vest? Some vintage crap? Kise sees it all, and then some. The mannerisms of most of his classmates are just too entertaining. 

The others, a select few, are brilliant, and Kise finds himself drawn to them. Midorima may be conventional in his speeches, but has a wide range of knowledge on every subject and has an unexplainable luck to him. Aomine and Momoi always find a way to work together, the former with his boundless energy and the latter with her uncanny ability to charm anyone. Murasakibara draws attention with his size and keeps it with his bluntness. 

Another camp Kise adored were the overachievers. All teasing aside, Kise loved rallying a bloc to victory just as them. But the lengths Akashi Seijuurou went to! With his salmon-pastel pants and dress collar higher than his ego, Teikou’s Club President is a poster boy for ‘country club nerd.’ Akashi can’t make casual conversation to save his life, but he always shows up to club with a power point presentation and discussion cues. Akashi wears the hottest looks of Fall/Winter 1922, and as a result is one of the elite few who can pull off the club’s official sweater vests. 

Kise did his best to steer clear of Akashi and surround himself with the prettiest, preppiest (besides Akashi) of the bunch. Maybe too well, as he is poised at his first conference, Hibiya MUN, for irrelevancy. He is pushed aside to some bullshit historical committee regarding King Henry VIII’s separation from the Catholic Church. He has never flirted with his partner, much less been introduced to Kuroko Tetsuya. Kuroko is no cute diplomat’s child, nor an up-and-coming member of the Student Council. There is no glamor in being invited to a burger chain for their first meeting.

Kuroko is late, a trait Kise deems as sloppy and unprofessional. Kise scans the restaurant for anyone in a Teikou uniform. After a two minute grace period, Kise mutters to himself that the whole damn club was a mistake and reaches for his bag. His hand instead grips a slender shoulder.

“I’m not your first choice,” How long has he been there? “But you’ll soon find that my approach to committee, and Teikou’s goals at conferences, are quite compatible with your own values.”

“Look,” this is an insult. “If you’ve even gone to club meetings—”

“I have perfect attendance.” 

“I haven’t heard you say—”

“I have better things to do than show off.” Now Kise is furious. He’s excelled in practice debates. With his good looks and disarming warmth, Kise consistently passes of his bloc’s legislation. 

“It’s not showing off, it’s literally being the best of the best.”

Kuroko doesn’t dare refute this and retreats to his milkshake. There is no hand-holding here. 

“Akashi damn well knows that, too. I admit that my debate style is rather flashy. As a model, it’s in my blood to be social. I’m a people person. But despite my inexperience, we all know I’m the fastest learner of the first years. So for his sake, please tell me just what about you is so special for him to appoint you as my babysitter. I really will quit if he’s just tossed me some leftover to compensate for.”

“I hope I’m not too late,” Akashi slides across the booth. Speak of the devil. 

“Not at all, Akashi-kun. It must have been cumbersome to interview for substitute committee partners.” 

_Is that how it is?_ Kise eyes the subtle relaxing of Akashi’s gaze. 

Kuroko tucks his fingers under Kise's collar, popping it up triumphantly, “Trust us.” 

Kise finds this bizarre, yet oddly reassuring.

**Author's Note:**

> To KT: If you enjoyed this one shot, I can expand it to a series. I took a few liberties with the characters in order to get more humor. Akashi as a preppy, sweater-vested nerd is just too great to pass up. The pairings are a bit more subtle, as the triangle has room to develop.


End file.
